Taking a Page From the Gnomes' Book
by Seaouryou
Summary: Eric'll do anything to win Wendy's heart. Even if it means helping Kyle, convincing Stan he's gay, becoming Bebe's slave, and listening to Kenny talk about his feelings. He might even succeed, too, if the Cartmans and Charlie Mansion don't screw it up.
1. Phase 1, Collect Minions

So, anyone who's seen episode 216 ("Merry Christmas Charlie Manson") already knows that the Cartman family is _the shit_. So is Jimbo/Ned, for that matter. (Canon! Canon, I tell you!) And Bebe fucking _rocks_. No one can tell me differently.

BTW, this story is my version of fluff. And it will only be three chapters long. I actually had this chapter done a week ago, but I wanted to finish NNR before I started anything new.

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--

Cartman was starting to think that winning Wendy over was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Harder than igniting a mob, or even getting a million dollars. And it wasn't even the task itself - it was the obstacles he was facing from every side.

Like Stan. That God damn animal-loving pussy was still enraptured with Wendy, even after all these years. And, really, how pathetic was that? To cling to some stupid, utterly unrequited crush ever since grade school, what kind of loser...

Oh. Well. Of course, _his_ situation was completely different from Stan's. For one thing, he'd gotten further in a week with Wendy than Stan and his queasy stomach had in an entire year of 'dating.' For another, while Stan's relationship with her had deteriorated so that they were scarcely acquaintances, he still actually _talked_ to her. Though most of their conversations started with him insulting her and ended with her punching him in the gut, but, still. It was a valid point regardless.

Stan wasn't really any competition for him - after all, he was clearly better than Stan, and in fact was better in very conceivable way than all the losers he surrounded himself with - but still, he didn't want to listen to Stan bitch when he finally won Wendy over. He had to get that hippie-lover a consolation prize before he could make his move.

And he knew just the Jew for the job.

Cartman had been aware of Kyle's lame little gay crush for several months now. He would have begun ridiculing him immediately and made his life as miserable as possible as soon as possible, but he'd decided the information was just _too_ good to simply throw out there. The blackmail possibilities themselves were mind-blowing. So he'd decided to sit on it and bide his time until it would be most beneficial to him. And that time had finally come.

He waited until lunch was over and the group had disbanded, Kenny and Stan heading off to their last periods of the day, and hung back until enough people had left the area that he was sure no one would overhear their conversation. Kyle was already on his way to his next class, so Cartman hurried to catch up to him.

"Kyle!" he called in what he considered to be a very pleasant tone of voice. "I want to discuss something with you."

"I'm not doing your homework, I'm not lending you money, and if it's about my religion, fuck you," Kyle said without looking back.

"That's not it you butt-fucking Jew!" Cartman snarled, then composed himself quickly. "I mean, it's about Stan."

Kyle stopped, turned to face him, and gave him a scrutinizing look. "What about Stan?"

"Well, more specifically," Cartman said, "it's about the way you're lusting after him."

Kyle had a terrified, found-out look on his face for a moment before he snorted and rolled his eyes. "You are so full of shit, Cartman; I am not-"

"Give it up, Kyle. I _know_."

He seemed to mull this over, then glared. "How did you find out?"

"Please, it's only completely obvious. If Stan's head weren't so completely stuck up Wendy's ass he'd have noticed, too."

Kyle continued to glare. "So what? You're trying to extort me?"

"No, I-"

"You want money? Or do you want to turn me into your patsy?"

"No-"

"Well you can forget it, you sick little freak. I'm not doing shit for you; I know that even if I did you'd still tell anyway, because you do crap like that, you twisted asshole-"

"GOD DAMN IT I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU FUCKING JEW!"

Kyle looked at him as if he'd just stuffed his arm up a midget's ass and used it as a ventriloquist dummy. "What?"

"I'm trying to help you," Cartman repeated, calmer. "I want to help get you and Stan together."

"_Why?_"

"Because Stan has to get out of the picture, damn it! I want you to screw him until he forgets about girls! Or forgets about Wendy, anyway."

Kyle gave him a baffled look, then resumed glaring. "Forget it."

"_What?_"

"I'm not conspiring with you against my best friend, you tubby asshole."

"We're not _conspiring_, we're just plotting secretly against him."

"That's the _definition_ of conspiring, fat tits!"

"Quit calling me fat, Jew! Look, you want Stan, right?"

Kyle mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"_Yes_, all right? YES!"

"Jesus, you don't have to yell."

Kyle scowled at him, then looked away. "But... Stan's not gay," he said a little mournfully. "So what would you even do?"

"Just leave it to me," Cartman said smugly.

--

Stan couldn't discover Cartman's real motives until after he and Kyle were sucking face. Cartman knew he had to be cunning. He had to be sly. And, above all, he had to be subtle.

"So, Stan," he said casually, leaning over in his seat, "Kyle's got a pretty sweet ass, wouldn't you say?"

"_WHAT?_" Stan shrieked. His mechanical pencil snapped in his hand. As the class was in the middle of an English test he'd shouted in an otherwise silent room, and everyone jumped and twisted around in their seats to stare at him.

"_Mis_ter Marsh!" their English teacher cried, outraged. "Detention after class!"

"But-! Cartman-!"

"All right, Eric, you'll stay after as well," she said waspishly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Normally Cartman would have bitched and carried on until the teacher realized it would be more of a punishment for _them_ to have Cartman in detention than it would be for him and let him off, but detention was exactly what Cartman wanted. Now he could talk to Stan without anyone butting in.

Stan, on the other hand, sat and fumed. The moment the bell rang, he practically jumped out of his chair to get to Cartman. "Cartman, _what the HELL-_"

"Sit back down, Stanley!" their teacher barked, misinterpreting Stan's attempt to strangle Cartman as an attempt to sneak out of the class with the rest of the students and skip detention. He did so, picking up the chair he had knocked over in his haste, glaring at Cartman all the while as if those people who said '_if_ looks could kill' had simply not tired hard enough.

They sat there for a while, the only sounds coming from the squeak of their teacher's pen as she graded papers and the slow grind of Stan's teeth. Stan glowered at Cartman and Cartman smiled back pleasantly. It was hard to smile pleasantly at Stan, as he was one of the people he hated most, so he just remembered the look on Stan's face when Wendy kissed him in third grade. Smiling at his shocked misery was very easy.

At length their teacher stood, a stack of papers in her hand. "I need to visit the copier machine, but you're still being punished, so I'm locking the door from the outside. I'll be back in ten minutes. And you had better be in your seats when I come back," she added on her way out the door, giving them a threatening look they all knew she couldn't back up. She closed the door behind her, and then they heard the jingle of keys and the click as she locked the door.

The second she was gone, Stan vaulted out of his seat again. "What the _fuck_ was that supposed to mean, Cartman!"

Cartman folded his hands on his desk. He had ten minutes to convince Stan Kyle was the man of his dreams.

He betted he could do it in four.

"I think you need to stop lying to yourself, Stan."

"_Lying_ to myself!" Stan exclaimed.

"Give it up, I've seen you scope Kyle out in the locker room." He hadn't actually, but he noted the curious red color Stan's face turned with interest.

"I _have not!_"

"Don't feel bad; it's not your fault. Gayness just runs in your family."

"_WHAT?_ My dad is straight!"

"Yeah, except when he's screwing a bunch of other guys in a pile."

"That was because he's _stupid_, not because he's gay."

"Okay, what about your uncle?"

"What _about_ Uncle Jimbo?"

"Oh, come on. He's been living with his 'war buddy' since the war ended. That's thirty-eight _years_. They host a TV show together. They pack one tent when they take those long, private 'hunting trips.' He can say 'fag' without getting bleeped. _Read between the fucking lines!_"

"Uncle Jimbo and Ned are not gay!"

"Stan, serioushlay. They're obsessed with handling _guns_."

"SO?"

He sighed. "Okay, forget your uncle and his life partner." Stan made a protesting noise, which Cartman ignored. "Let's get back to you."

Stan glared and crossed his arms.

"Your last girlfriend - dude, you might as well have worn a shirt that said 'Kyle, Please Come Over Here And Satisfy All My Gay Fantasies.'"

"What!" Stan cried, outraged. "Why would you say _that?_"

"Oh, come on. All the girls you could ask out, and you pick Red?"

"What was wrong with Red!" Stan demanded.

"Oh, nothing. She was just on the basketball team. She just liked to wrestle and play tackle football in the mud. She just never wore makeup or skirts. She just had _bright, red hair_-"

Stan scowled. "If you're trying to say Red was gay-"

"Ugh, no, God damn it! I'm not saying _she_ was gay, I'm saying _you're_ gay! You were dating the female version of Kyle!"

"I was not!"

"You were so! The only difference was she had tits and she didn't fall over when I kicked her in the crotch!"

"I still can't _believe_ you did that to my girlfriend," Stan muttered, shaking his head.

"Ey, fag, that isn't the issue here. I'm saying you don't like females, and you need to realize it before it starts affecting your health."

Stan went back to glaring. "I do so like girls. That's why I always throw up around them!"

"Yes, hm, since you brought it up, let's investigate that phenomenon, shall we? What else makes you throw up?" Cartman help up a hand and began ticking off his fingers. "Surgery, heights, motion sickness... does any of that turn you on?"

"No!"

"So," Cartman said with mock concentration, "all the things that make you throw up are things you _don't_ like..."

Stan bristled. "It's because I get nervous! Not because girls make me sick!"

"The only reason you didn't throw up on Red is because she's butch enough to fool your stomach," Cartman attested firmly. "Stan, it's _obvious_. Even Red realized it. Why do you think she broke up with you?"

"What!" Stan yelped, outraged. "You told Red this bogus theory and _that's_ why she dumped me?"

"No, asshole! Aren't you listening? She realized it herself, because it's _obvious_. And she broke up with you because she thought it was fucking _creepy_ that you were dating Kyle's female clone."

"I _wasn't_. Red wasn't _anything_ like Kyle."

Cartman sighed. "Look, just admit you want to french Kyle until you're so breathless your asthma kicks in."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Why _not?_ Because I'm not gay!"

Cartman scowled and kneaded his forehead. "God damn it, why are you being so difficult? Why are you plotting against my happiness? Do you just hate me or something?"

"What are you talking about now?" Stan asked, looking half enraged and half confused.

"Admit it!"

"No!" Stan scowled at him. "I know what you're trying to do, asshole. You're trying to screw with my head and fuck up my friendship with Kyle. Well it's not going to work, fatass."

"God, and you bastards wonder why I never help you. You make it so fucking difficult."

The teacher returned then and told them they could leave. Stan stormed off and Cartman watched him go, glaring.

If Stan wouldn't turn gay, he had no choice but to kill him.

--

Kyle stood out in the otherwise empty school parking lot, leaning against his dad's truck. He had his hands buried deep in his pockets and he was looking down at his feet, which he'd been pushing the snow around with.

He'd been waiting for Stan for the past twenty-five minutes, during which time his stomach had twisted up into knots. Cartman had told Stan. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. He'd been stupid to think Cartman _wouldn't_. And now Stan didn't want to have anything to do with him.

"Hey, man. Wow, you waited for me?"

Kyle jumped and reached out to steady himself against the door. He gaped at Stan. "What?"

"Sorry I made you wait so long. That fat asshole got me in detention," Stan said, making a face and hitching his backpack up his shoulder.

"He did?" Kyle said, his face screwing up confusion. It had finally occurred to him that Cartman _hadn't_ told... which actually made him more suspicious. "Why?"

"Oh, God, get this - he was trying to convince me I had a thing for you."

... He _hated_ Cartman. _So much._

"I don't know where lardass comes up with this stuff," Stan said, shaking his head. Kyle considered shaking it off with him and living the rest of his life in silent misery, but that sounded less than pleasant.

"Um, actually, Stan..." he said, and trailed off. Stan stared at him a moment, as if expecting him to finish his sentence. When Kyle didn't he blinked, and seemed to puzzle over the words, and then his eyes widened a little and he said, "Oh. _OH_..."

"Yeah," Kyle said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh. Well. I mean, that's cool, man." He hesitated. "Of course, I'm not... I don't..."

"Expected as much," Kyle interrupted, turning away and opening up the driver's side car door. "Look, let's just drive home and forget about it."

Stan, however, didn't move. "Hey - hey, Kyle?"

Kyle sighed and closed his eyes. "Yes?"

"Do you think Uncle Jimbo and Ned are gay?"

Kyle blinked and stared at him. He tried to figure out what that had to do with anything. "Well, yeah. You mean they aren't? I thought your family just had a 'don't talk about it' policy."

Stan licked his lips and looked at the ground. "And, ah. Do you think Red's butch?"

"Well, she was a pretty big tomboy. Why?"

"Well," Stan said. He shuffled his feet, and then he looked up and gave him an intensified look. "I was just thinking, if Cartman's right about that, what else is he right about?"

Kyle's lips parted in shock as Stan took a step forward and braced a hand against the open car door, cornering him against the car. He leaned forward and Kyle's thought process got as far as _Oh, God_ before Stan kissed him. He went about it cautiously at first, as if he weren't sure this was such a great idea, so Kyle reached and grabbed both ends of his scarf, wound it around each hand once, and yanked Stan forward. Stan stumbled into him, his hand slipping from its hold on the door and sliding along the window until he reached out and grabbed Kyle by the shoulders. Just as Stan was starting to gain some self-assurance and began to kiss Kyle more confidently, there was an audible crack, and Stan hollered in pain and fell over.

They both stared, Stan with his right leg drawn up to his chest, clutching it below the knee, as Cartman swung the baseball bat back up over his head, getting ready to strike again.

"Say goodbye, hetero!"

"Cartman, Jesus Christ!" Kyle shouted.

"Gah!" Stan said, waving his arms frantically. "Cartman, I'm gay! I'm gay!"

Cartman paused in his downward swing of the bat. "Really?"

"Yes!"

"You're not trying to trick me into not beating you to death?"

"No! I swear!"

"Give me that!" Kyle snarled, yanking the bat out of Cartman's hands. "Leave before I break your neck, fatass!"

"Fine," Cartman huffed. "You guys are such ungrateful sons of bitches. You should be thanking me right now."

"You hit me in the leg with a baseball bat!" Stan cried, outraged.

"Oh, don't be such a pussy."

Kyle swung the bat at Cartman's head, and he ducked and left the parking lot as fast as his legs could carry him. Kyle was dangerous enough on his own; Cartman wasn't going to stick around when he had a weapon.

--

Now that Stan was taken care of, Cartman could move onto the next stage of his plan: Bebe.

Although Cartman was, of course, a genius, he had to admit there were many things about the female mind that baffled him. If he was going to have a chance with Wendy, he would need the assistance of a chick. And who better than Wendy's best friend, that slut Stevens?

"Whore," Cartman said the next day at lunch, catching her before she met up with Wendy. "I have a proposition for you."

"Forget it, Cartman; I don't sleep with fatasses," she said breezily, walking past him.

"God damn it, that's not what I want!" Cartman snapped. She stopped and turned to face him.

"I'm listening."

"I want you to cooperate with me in my task to win Wendy over."

Bebe looked him up and down, and then she arched an eyebrow at him. "You need my help?"

"I didn't say that," Cartman snarled.

"But you do, huh," she said, placing a manicured finger against her chin. "What's in it for me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You think I'm going to expel that much effort without some sort of payoff?"

Cartman sighed. "Fine. I'm prepared to offer you any of my mother's sex toys in exchange for your assistance." She made a face.

"I don't take secondhand stuff, don't be disgusting." She tapped her chin. "I know what I want. Three days."

"Three days?" he repeated, and she nodded.

"If you be my slave and do everything I say for three days - today after school, tomorrow, Sunday, and until the end of school Monday - then I'll help you in any way I can."

"That's _four_ days, bitch!"

"It's seventy-two hours," she said matter-of-factly. "Do we have a deal?"

Cartman grumbled and finally said, "Fine."

"Good," she said, smirking and patting him on the cheek. "I'll meet you by your car after school. I feel the sudden urge to go shopping coming on."

--

Somewhere between the last bell of the school day and the third break from shopping for coffee, Cartman realized he had greatly underestimated Bebe.

He'd always considered her a dumb whore with huge tits that choked on a lot of dick. As such, he'd always been confused as to why she was Wendy's best friend. Wendy held a certain disdain for stupid, spoiled whores, after all. But now he saw that under that perky, blond exterior she was a crafty, shrewd, opportunistic bitch. She had him running up and down the shopping mall, carrying her bags like he was her bitch. If it were anyone else she was doing this to, he would have applauded her. But because it was _him_, he wanted to decapitate her and then swing her head around his head by all that fuzzy blond hair while giving a triumphant viking war cry.

"How much coffee do you _drink?_" he asked with distaste, as he brought her her fourth cup of it (dry venti half-caf Arabian Mocha Sanani).

"Tweek got me hooked," she said, taking the cup from him and taking a sip. He gave her a disgusted look.

"_Tweek?_ God, I know you're a whore, but don't you have any _standards?_"

"Hey, all that twitching he does? Excess energy. I'll have you know he can do five times a night."

"That is more than I ever cared to know, skank." Bebe gave him a smug look. She appeared to be very pleased that she was going to cause nightmares.

God, the things he did for Wendy.

Bebe pulled him into an underwear store next. He tried to valiantly look at the ceiling while she tried to pull him into a discussion of which thong would look best on her. "I thought skanks like you didn't wear underwear," he finally bit out, when the mortification became to great to will away.

"Now _there's_ an idea," Bebe said, looking like she was seriously considering it.

Cartman thought he was going to be ill. He had to leave the store and lean over the balcony, taking deep, slow breaths. The intercom crackled, and a nasal child's voice said, "Free pony rides at the orange smoothie cart."

Cartman made a face - where were that child's _parents?_ - and suddenly a huge swell of people came rushing toward him, for he was between those people and their pony rides. He couldn't fight the current, and was pushed back all the way to the escalators. Someone's stray elbow knocked him off his feet, and Cartman fell backwards down the up escalator. He tumbled in place until gravity took over, and then he hit the floor on his back and groaned.

"Cartman?" Bebe called, letting the down escalator carry her down to the level he'd landed on in no hurry at all. She walked to his side and bent over him, placing her hands on her knees as she looked him over. "You okay?"

"Bitch... hate you..." he wheezed out.

"What was that, Cartman?" she asked, tucking her hair back and cupping a hand around her ear.

"Hate you..."

"You say you want to hold my toes apart while I paint my nails? Great! You carry my bags," she said brightly, dropping them by his side and heading toward the exit.

"Hate... you..."

--

TBC


	2. Phase 2, ?

This is sort of a filler chapter. I had to get it out there so that I could get onto the last one which, I assure you, will be much better.

And, yeah. This story is pure fluff. Cartman-fluff, but still.

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--

--

"So then he said 'Bitch, are you for real?' and I said 'Mark, sweetie, quoting _Dolemite_ stopped being cool years ago,' and then he said-"

"ARGH!" Cartman cried, letting loose an exclamation of unadulterated anguish. "Do you ever SHUT UP?"

"_You_ shut up," Bebe snapped at him. "I didn't give you permission to talk, did I?"

They were seated on Bebe's bed, his legs crossed, her feet resting in his lap while he held her toes apart, waiting for her Stormy Sea Foam polish to dry. Cartman said the Stormy Sea Foam looked exactly like all her other shades of white (he'd been amazed that anyone could own _that much_ nail polish, when she'd pulled the box out. She could have painted her room with it and still had some left over). Bebe said he was clearly colorblind; it looked nothing like her Mocha Whip.

Cartman had discovered painting nails was a very involved process. First she'd made him buff them. Then he'd had to put on the clear under coat, then let it dry, then put on the _first_ coat. It was actually harder to not get the polish all over her toes than he'd thought it would be, and she kept bitching at him for wasting all her polish remover.

"I think we're almost ready for the final coat," she announced, lifting her foot a little and inspecting it. "Ooh, but first, I've got something for you."

Cartman blinked at her as she hopped off her bed and made her way to her dresser, where her shopping bags were piled. She walked carefully on her heels, her toes curling upward so that they didn't get messed up.

"While you were getting me my second cup of coffee, I saw the most awesome store. They let you print whatever you want on a shirt," she said brightly. Cartman watched warily. Nothing good could come from his. Bebe reached into one of her bags, pulled out a shirt, unfurled it, and turned around so that he could read what it said.

"... Oh, no. HELL NO. I am _not_ wearing that, whore!"

"You will if you want Wendy."

--

"So, you guys are gay," Kenny said, looking from Stan, to Stan's bandaged leg which was resting in Kyle's lap, to Kyle.

"Not gay," Stan said quickly. "Kyle-sexual."

'Denial,' Kyle mouthed to Kenny. Kenny took a long sip from his soda, then asked, "What's the bat for, Kyle?" He nodded toward the blunt wooden object that was resting against the lunch table.

"Gift from Cartman," Kyle said, his eyebrows drawing down. "I'm going to return the favor."

It was at that moment that Cartman appeared. He was wearing a shirt that read 'BEBE'S BITCH' and the most murderous scowl any of them had seen on him (lately). "If _any_ of you say a _word_," he growled, glaring especially hard at Kyle, "I will sneak into your bedroom in the night and cut off your dicks, which I will then pickle and sell to the Japanese."

Kyle looked at the bat, then at Cartman's shirt, then he shook his head and muttered, "Worse than anything _I _could do." Cartman sat down and was just about to take a bite of his ham-bacon-pork chop sandwich when Bebe materialized at his shoulder.

"_There_ you are! Who told you you could take a break?"

"You have to let me _eat_, bitch!"

"I don't have to let you do _anything_," she countered. She glanced around the table at Stan, Kyle, and Kenny, all of whom where gaping at her, obviously wondering what she had on Cartman that was letting her get away with this. Her eyes lingered a moment on Kenny, and then she turned back to Cartman. "Now come and peel my grapes," she commanded, heaving him out of his seat - a considerable feat, considering he was a good hundred pounds heavier than she. She lugged him away; he looked back as he was dragged off and stretched a hand out longingly toward his sandwich, a silent look of heartbreak on his face.

"Just a few more hours," Cartman hissed at her as he sat down and started peeling her grapes. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of Wendy - that, and Bebe's imminent demise. "Then I'm through with this shit, and you have to tell me how to win over Wendy."

"Yeah," Bebe said. "About that. I've changed my mind."

Cartman squirted himself in the eye with grape juice.

"_WHAT?_" he raged at her, one of his eyes turning red.

"I want something else," she said calmly, taking a sip of her drink.

"WHAT?"

"Kenny."

"_Kenny!_ Whore, you can't just change your mind on a whim!"

"Actually, I changed my mind on Saturday. I just wanted to get my full three days out of you before I told you."

The sound Cartman made was rage in its most vocal form.

"Bitch, you can't _do_ that!"

"Let me explain something about bargaining with you," she said. "_I'm_ the one who has something you want. You have nothing. Therefore, I have all the power here. And if I want to change the contract, then I can change the contract." She sipped her soda. "Kenny McCormick or no deal."

Cartman snarled. "I am going to kill you one day."

"Oh no you aren't," Bebe said briskly. "See, funny thing about girls - they don't go for the guy who killed their best friend."

So now he had to get Kenny on board. Well, that wouldn't be too hard, really. He didn't see how the town's biggest whore could turn down a date with the town's second biggest whore.

"Kenny! You are going to..." Cartman trailed off. He'd returned to their lunch table to find Kenny crumpled on the ground, his skull bashed in by the baseball bat. He blinked at the impoverished boy's prone form, and then he glanced at Stan and Kyle.

Stan shrugged. "Long story."

"God damn it! Kenny!" Cartman snapped, grabbing him by the front of his bloody shirt and shaking him viciously. "Get back here NOW! You can't just die whenever you feel like it! Stop being so motherfucking selfish!"

Kenny's head just flopped back rebelliously. Cartman snarled. "It always has to be about you, doesn't it?"

It was nearly eight o'clock when Kenny finally came to. Cartman vaulted off the broken bed he'd been waited on and barked, "Took you long enough, asshole!"

"Huh?" Kenny asked, always the intellectual. "Cartman? What are you doing here?"

"You have a date with Bebe in fifteen minutes," he said, stuffing the box of chocolate and flowers he'd bought earlier into Kenny's hands. Kenny looked at him blankly.

"Bebe? Bwah?"

"Go go go!" Cartman snapped, shoving him out the front door. "Here, you're too poor to pay for dinner, so here's a twenty - don't think I'm doing this for charity, I'm going to make you work it off later - and she better have a motherfucking good time, you poor piece of shit!"

He pushed Kenny right out of his own house and slammed the door closed behind him. Kenny stood on his front step, holding the candy, flowers, and twenty, and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

--

"Oh Cartman - oh, man," Kenny said the next day at lunch, when Cartman had hunted him down and demanded to know how it had gone. "Dude, you remember when Chef almost got married to that succubus? Well, dude, I _totally get_ what he was talking about now! I mean, we went back to her house - and first we had sex, obviously - but then we just hung out, and I _didn't_ want her to shut up! God, I didn't _know _there were chicks out there who were interesting to talk to."

"Yeah, yeah," Cartman said irritably. "Look, I don't care about your pussy feelings, I just want to know if she had a good time."

"And," Kenny went on, sounding awed, "the sex was fantastic, too. She does this thing with her tongue where-"

"GOD DAMN IT JUST TELL ME IF SHE ENJOYED HERSELF!"

"Oh, she _enjoyed_ herself, all right," Kenny said, smirking.

"_Thank_ you," Cartman snapped, feeling greatly disturbed as he stomped away to find Bebe. She was with a cluster of girls, bragging loudly. Cartman wrinkled his nose and hauled her away mid-sentence.

"Hey!" she snapped. "I was just getting to the good part!"

"Time to hold up your end of the deal, whore," Cartman said, crossing his arms. "Tell me how to get Wendy to like me."

Bebe snorted and ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah right, Cartman. Like I was ever going to tell you anything."

Cartman didn't blink for a full ten seconds.

"**_WHAT?_**"

"What did you expect? Wendy's my _best friend_. You really think I'm going to betray her trust, tell you her secrets and plot against her to help _you_ out?"

"You tricked me!"

"I only did to you what you do to people _all_ the time. You deserved it and more, Cartman."

--

Cartman stopped by juvenile hall to visit Romper Stomper every couple months or so. He'd re-ignited his friendship with the other boy when he'd gone back to juvenile hall for a week for hiding Butters in that bomb shelter. He'd decided having Romper Stomper as a friend would be very beneficial, and it had been: earlier this very year a now-fourteen Trent Boyett had been released from juvenile hall, again. Cartman had broken Romper Stomper out with his _Mission Impossible: Breaking and entering play set_, and he and Trent had gotten into a vicious fight that landed them both right back in juvenile hall, thus saving them from Trent for another four years.

"Hey Romper," Cartman greeted him when he shuffled his way to the glass. "How's Disneyland?"

"Pirates of the Caribbean broke down again," Romper said.

"What, _again?_"

"It's my favorite ride," he said, giving him an imploring look.

"Ugh," Cartman huffed. "Fine, I'll crap out a repairman next time I come by," he said irritably. "But I need you to do something for me first."

"Yeah, what?"

"I need you to go to this address," Cartman said, writing Kenny's address down on a piece of paper and holding it up against the glass, "and I want you to kill the blond whore with the big tits. Don't kill the other blond whore by mistake, he'll just come back and bitch at me."

"Kill?" Romper Stomper repeated, frowning at him. "That's not cool, man."

"She screwed me, Romper. I'll never get the girl I love because of that slut. I'm going easy on her."

"Death is 'going easy'?"

"Yes. Is that hole I cut in your cell still there?"

"Yeah, they never filled it. They just put a sheet over it." Such was life in South Park.

"All right, do it tonight."

He sighed. "Fine. But you owe me for this."

"I'm getting you your ride fixed, aren't I?" he demanded.

Romper Stomper snuck out of his cell at seven-thirty, scaled the wall, and hitchhiked into town. No one even tried to stop him. He saw the guards falling over one another laughing, and assumed Cartman had supplied them with S'Mores Schnapps. Cartman always took care of the details.

The house was easy enough to find. It was about a fourth the size of the houses on either side of it and there was, for some reason, a row boat on the front lawn.

Romper Stomper went through the back door and stomped through the house - no one seemed very concerned that someone was breaking and entering. In fact, when he passed a twenty-something man in the living room he just glanced at him, shrugged, and resumed watching TV. He edged his way down the hall and opened the door that had 'Kenny' scrawled across it in crayon.

He blinked when he spotted the occupants, two blonds in various states of undress on a broken bed. Kenny was kissing Bebe along her stomach, and Bebe was giggling. The lower he went down her belly, the louder her giggling became. "Um," Romper Stomper said, and they both ignored him. He tried clearing his throat, then rapping against the door, and when that didn't work, he picked up the lampshade and chucked it at Kenny.

"Hey!" Kenny said indignantly, turning around to face him and rubbing the back of his head. "What was that for?"

"I'm here to kill you."

"What, can't it wait?"

"Not you," Romper Stomper said, waving him off. "Her, and- hey, where did she go?"

His question was answered almost immediately when Bebe, who'd slid off of the bed and snuck behind him, smashed the lap against his head while shouting, "Just TRY and kill my boyfriend on my watch!"

Romper Stomper slummed forward and proceeded to not move. Kenny blinked and climbed off the bed, coming over to inspect him.

"Hey, I know this guy. It's Cartman's delinquent friend... woah, he actually _did_ try and have you killed. What a sore loser."

Bebe frowned down at Romper Stomper's prone form, biting her lip. "I... feel terrible."

"Why? Don't worry, you didn't kill the guy."

"It's not _that_. It's- Kenny, does Cartman actually like Wendy?"

"Well, yeah. Why?"

"I... I figured it was just another one of his stupid schemes! I mean, no way am I going to let anyone fuck with my best friend. But if he actually _does_ like her..." she bit her lip harder. "And then he goes and gets us together, and I... Kenny... we've got to help Cartman out."

"Aw," Kenny whined. "Can't we just have sex?"

"Well, naturally. I meant we've got to help Cartman afterward."

--

Romper Stomper had failed. He'd seen the newspaper deadline about the 'dangerous delinquent' - he would beg to differ, since he hadn't even managed to off that slut - being recaptured and returned to juvenile hall.

So Cartman had taken to lounging on his couch, moping about how he would never have Wendy and that bitch Stevens wasn't even going to get what was coming to her. Clearly, life could not get worse.

And then the door bell rang.

"Fuck off!" he shouted toward the door, instead of calling for his mother to answer it.

"Open up, fatass," he heard Kyle call.

"Screw you, Jew!"

The door swung open and in marched Kenny, Kyle, and Stan, led by Bebe. The three boys looked less than pleased to be there.

"All right, Cartman," Bebe said briskly. "Move over, give us some couch room."

"What do you assholes want?" Cartman asked, standing up to scowl at them.

"You helped us out, so we decided it was only fair we help you out," Bebe explained.

"We're only here because she made us come," Kyle explained. Bebe gave them a sidelong glare.

"You guys owe him! You two especially, Stan and Kyle!"

"He _hit_ me in the _leg_ with a _baseball bat!_" Stan said.

Bebe rolled her eyes. "You know what I think, Stan? I think you're faking - or at the very least exaggerating - that injury so that you have an excuse to cling to Kyle."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Stan said, tightening his grip on Kyle's waist.

The four of them made their way to the couch and sat down, much to Cartman's annoyance. He made a face at the way Stan promptly propped his leg back up in Kyle's lap and linked his fingers around his abdomen, and the way Kenny slung an arm over Bebe so that it rested right between her breasts. Cartman glared at the four of them. He did not seem at all pleased that their happiness was a result of his quest to win Wendy over. In fact, it seemed to depress him. Which was to be expected, after all: Cartman didn't like helping other people, even by accident.

"Okay," Bebe said, folding her hands. "So what where you planning on doing to win Wendy over?"

"Why should I even trust you, whore?"

"You shouldn't," she said matter-of-factly. "If you do anything to hurt my best friend, I'll stab you in the back."

"You''re so hot when you're vindictive," Kenny praised. Judging by the look on Cartman's face, he begged to differ.

"So?" Bebe prompted. "What was your general plan of action regarding Wendy?"

Cartman muttered something and crossed his arms, glaring.

"... Dude," Stan finally ventured, "you don't even know _how?_"

"It was all supposed to come together!" Cartman snarled.

Kyle snorted. "Dumbass."

Cartman looked on the verge of murder. Unfortunately, he didn't have his baseball bat with him.

Still, the fact that the four of them where sitting there, staring, seemed to prompt him to come up with some sort of idea. He paced for a moment, and then his face lit up and he turned back around to face them, smirking in a self-satisfied sort of way.

"Here's what I'm going to do," Cartman said. "I'm going to throw her into Stark's Pond. Then I'm going to dive in and valiantly save her, and she'll swoon into my arms."

"Sounds good," Stan said.

"Oh my _God_," Bebe said, rolling her eyes. "You boys are so stupid; that is a horrible idea."

"What? It's great!" Kenny said.

"Look, Wendy _knows_ how to swim. The only thing you'll accomplish by throwing her into the lake is thoroughly pissing her off, and possibly ruining her watch. Also, Wendy is a feminist. She boycotts Disney movies because she says they brainwash little girls into buying into the 'You are not complete without a man' mentality. She is _not_ about to find you trying to sweep her off of her feet romantic. At the most, she'll find it an insult to her gender."

"God damn hippie freak," Cartman muttered. Amazingly, he possessed the ability to sound incredibly fond of her even while insulting her.

Kenny nudged Bebe. "But you'd want me to rescue you from the Stark's Pond Monster, right?"

"Actually, honey, you'd probably drown in the attempt," she said, patting his arm comfortingly.

"So what, then?" Stan asked.

"Invite her to your house for Thanksgiving," Bebe said after a moment of consideration. "She'll find that much more impressive than an invitation to the movies."

--

TBC


	3. Phase 3, Profit

God, FINALLY! This chapter took forever to write. It's a longer one, if that's any consolation.

I did not make up any of the members of the Cartman family. They were all in either "Merry Christmas Charlie Manson" or "Cartmanland."

--

--

--

"Wussing out?"

"I am not wussing out, you butt fucking Jew."

"Lunch is almost over," Kyle said, graciously looking over the insult, "and you still haven't asked her."

"I'm waiting until the moment is right, heeb."

"You're wussing out."

"Look, you God damn Jesus-killer," Cartman snarled, "why don't you go lick Stan's ass? I am not wussing out! In fact, I'm going to ask her right now!" And with that he stood up and stormed over to where Wendy was seated with Bebe. He didn't come to a stop until he was standing right next to their lunch table, because there was nothing like proving Kyle wrong to overcome his nervousness.

Wendy glanced at him, then looked at Bebe. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no," Bebe said quickly, giving Cartman a what-took-you-so-long? look. "I think _he_ wants _me_ to leave." She picked up her purse and flounced off, and Wendy frowned at her back until she was out of sight. Then she turned to look at Cartman.

"Well, what?"

"... Um," Cartman said, and immediately cursed himself. God damn it, he was supposed to be the dynamic speaker of the group! What was it about Wendy that always made him lose his ability to talk? What sort of evil, female powers did she possess? And most importantly, if she were his girlfriend, would she let him exploit those powers?

Wendy inclined an eyebrow, looking impatient, and Cartman cleared his throat.

"I wanted to invite you over to my house for Thanksgiving dinner." He managed the suppress the instinct to tack on a 'ho' to his comment. Cartman was immensely proud of this fact.

She blinked, looking a little thrown. "You're asking me?"

Cartman struggled and was able, with a tremendous effort, to not say 'Didn't I just say that, you dumb bitch?' Instead he said a simple, "Yes."

Now Wendy was frowning at him.

"Why aren't you asking Bebe?"

"Why would I ask _Bebe?_"

"I thought you liked her. You've been spending so much time with her lately."

"What?" Cartman cried, panicked. He didn't want her to think he liked anyone but _her_. "I don't like that stupid whore!"

Wendy's eyes narrowed dangerously and her voice got cold. "That _whore_ is my best friend."

Cartman winced. God, why did girls have to be so weird? Why couldn't they call their friends assholes and rip on them the way guys ripped on their friends?

"Um... What I mean is... she's dating Kenny!"

"And," Wendy said slowly, "you wouldn't steal a girl from a friend." She was silent a moment, then smiled slightly at him. "That is rather admirable, considering it's _you_."

"Um, sure," Cartman said, neglecting to tell her that if anyone was dating _her_ he'd run them down in a tractor then bury their body in a corn field, even if the person dating her in question was family.

"So then why are you asking _me?_" she asked, her smile fading away as she began to giving him a critical, suspicious look.

Cartman had planned to tell her right then and there how he felt about her. Cartman had stayed up all last night rehearsing what he would say, how he would say it. Cartman had even gotten out the markers and wig he'd used to make J-Lo, and he'd acted out every possible scenario with his hand.

But the second Wendy gave him that look all of his confidence dried up, and he stammered out, "Well, I'm inviting the guys, and Kenny's dragging Bebe along with him, so I figured you could come along and... keep... Bebe... company?"

She blinked, and then her eyebrows drew down a little in a way that he _thought_ could be disappointment, or maybe she was just using her evil female powers to try and read his brain and find out if he was lying. "Oh," Wendy said. "So it's just a get-together among friends."

The bell rang, and Wendy stood up, picking up her tray with the rest of her uneaten food. "All right, then," she said. "I hate eating Thanksgiving dinner with my parents, anyway. I'll get the details from Bebe."

And then she waltzed past him, dumped her trash in the trash can, and left for class.

--

"Okay, dicks, you're coming over to my house for Thanksgiving."

"Would you quit calling me a dick?" Bebe asked, mildly annoyed.

"Fine, cunt. You have to come too."

"_Why_ do we have to go to your house for Thanksgiving?" Kyle demanded, scowling unpleasantly at the thought.

Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Bebe were seated on and around Stan's couch, playing video games. Or rather, the boys were playing video games. Bebe was painting her nails and trying to figure out what it was with boys and explosions. She had several theories, all of which could be traced back to their sexuality.

"Because, assholes, I said so."

"Forget it, then."

"Kyle, you God damn Jew!"

"You screwed up asking Wendy, didn't you," Bebe sighed.

"Knew it."

"Kyle, you motherfucking Jew!"

"Knock it off, fatass, my mom will hear you," Stan said, concentrating on the TV screen.

"Aw, man!" Kenny cried in frustration, throwing down his controller and glaring at Stan. "You just killed me!"

"Will you dicks - and cunt - pay attention to me!" Cartman demanded. When none of them did, he walked over and pulled the plug on the TV.

"Hey, Cartman! I was just about to pound Kyle's ass!" Stan protested, glaring at him.

"Do it on your own time!" Cartman snapped back, which made Stan realize what he'd just said, and he promptly turned red.

"Fuck you, Cartman," Kyle said irritably, putting down his controller. "And you were _not_, Stan, one more second and I would have blasted you in the face."

"God, this is hot," Bebe commented. Stan and Kyle glared at her and she said, "I knew video games were the gateway to sex."

"Pay attention to me!" Cartman raged. "Or I'll break the TV!"

"Fine, what, we're paying attention," Stan said irritably, because it was a nice TV and he knew Cartman wasn't the sort to make empty threats. "What did you want, again?"

"You're all coming over to my house for Thanksgiving!"

"Why should we?" Bebe asked. "Mom's making my favorite kind of rolls this year."

"Screw your mother's rolls, my mom's a better cook anyway. Look, I told Wendy you were coming over so you're coming over if I have to burn down all your houses and blacklist you from the grocery stores!"

"You can blacklist someone from a grocery store?" Kenny asked, bemused.

"Why'd you tell Wendy we were coming over?" Bebe asked, frowning at him. "My God, now it's a social gathering instead of a date! You've completely switched up the entire situation."

"Wha - it's not _that_ different," Cartman protested.

"Yes, it is! Now you're going to have to act like a host instead of a possible boyfriend. Ugh, boys are so _stupid_."

"I'll come over," Kenny volunteered. "Be happy to, actually. Can I take the leftovers home with me?"

"No, you poor piece of crap, I don't give handouts," he said.

"I _guess_ I'll come," Bebe said with a sigh. "If Kenny's going. But I guess you'll need me around anyway, or you'll screw it up even more with Wendy."

"Don't give me your back talk, whore, or I'll smack you in the face."

"Well, I don't have anything better to do," Stan admitted. "Shelly's staying at college; Dad got suckered into a Turkey Liberation group, thinking they were talking about the bird instead of the country; and Uncle Jimbo and Ned are just doing their own thing this year."

"'Their own thing,' by which they mean each other," Cartman snorted.

"God damn it Uncle Jimbo and Ned are not gay!" Stan cried, pounding the couch with his fists. "They said they were going to stay home, drink beer, watch the game, and stuff a turkey."

Cartman, Kyle, Kenny, and Bebe all gave him a long, silent look.

"What? So WHAT! That doesn't mean anything!"

"Denial isn't healthy, you know," Kyle said. "I only say this because I have your best interests in heart."

"They're straight, Kyle!"

"Yeah, like a circle," he said, spinning his index finger around in a loop.

Stan flopped back into the couch and glared at him, then glanced back at Cartman. "My point is, I'm in."

"Good," Cartman said, and then they all looked at Kyle.

"... What? I don't want to spend a holiday with _Cartman_," Kyle said, making a face at them.

"Kyle, if you screw up my chances with Wendy, I'll... do something so terrible to you I don't even know what it is!"

"Wow," Bebe said, awed. "You've pissed him off so badly you've dried up his creatively sinister juices."

"Dude, c'mon," Stan said while nudging him with his foot, thus demonstrating that he had, in fact, been exaggerating his leg injury so that he could press up against Kyle and still claim a certain degree of heterosexuality. "You aren't going to abandon me to these freaks, are you?"

Kyle frowned at him. "Hell no! Why should I ruin my Thanksgiving to help _Cartman_ out?"

"Dude, come on..." Stan wheedled. "What do you want, for him to say please?"

"Ha! That'll be the day."

"Please."

They all stared at Cartman, who'd clapped his hand over his mouth. He seemed horrified that _that_ word had come out of _his_ mouth. When he pulled his hand away, he made a face.

"Ugh... I just threw up inside my mouth."

Kyle was staring at him, his eyebrows raised in something like awe.

"You really do like Wendy, don't you?"

"More than I hate you." Which was the closest Cartman had ever come to properly vocalizing just how much he really _did_ like Wendy.

"All right," Kyle grumbled, letting out a sigh. "I'll come to your house for Thanksgiving. But so help me, Cartman, you better not try to slip me ham again."

--

"You didn't tell us the rest of your family would be here," Kyle hissed at him, vivid.

"Well I didn't know!" Cartman snapped at him. He'd only found out a family reunion would be held at his house this year when he'd happened to mention to his mother that his friends were coming over for Thanksgiving, so she better cook enough food, God damn it. She'd put up a token resistance, but he'd whined and she'd caved in like the Cave of the Winds.

"I'm not holding _any_ catheter bags!" Kyle cried like, Cartman thought, the bitch he was, as he crossed his arms.

"Oh, shut up, Great Grandma is dead anyway," Cartman growled. Kyle's bitch-tastic attitude was setting him on edge, and he fingered the edge of his sweater. Though Kyle maintained that putting on a nice sweater wasn't the same thing as being nice, Cartman didn't see how it could _hurt_.

Everyone was here except Wendy. God, what if... what if she wasn't going to _come?_ Were girls allowed to change their minds like that? God damn it, it was another one of her evil female powers!

"Relax, Cartman," Stan said, who, by virtue of being an emo pussy fag, was the only one there who was remotely sympathetic to his plight.

"I AM relaxed," Cartman barked at him. "I'm the picture of calm! In fact, Buddha better watch his ass!"

"So your trying to replace a religious icon now," Kyle mused. "Well, you're fat enough."

"Choke on Stan's dick and die, you heeb!" Cartman snarled.

While Kyle and Stan were sniping with Cartman, Kenny was entertaining himself in a wholly different manner.

"Holy shit - Cartman has a hot cousin? _Cartman?_ Why am I only just learning this?"

"Dude," Kyle said, getting fed up with Cartman's numerous variations of 'gay Jew' and turning to talk to Kenny, "you have a girlfriend."

"Hot damn, she is hot," Bebe said.

"See?" Kenny said, grinning at Kyle. "_That's_ why she's my girlfriend."

"You're whores, the both of you," Kyle said, shaking his head.

The doorbell rang, and Cartman shoved Stan flat on his ass and trampled over him to reach the door. Unfortunately, his uncle Stinky got there first.

"Aw, aren't you just a cute little thing! You my little nephew's girlfriend?" he drawled. His great bulk was blocking the door, so Cartman couldn't see Wendy's expression. This also meant she couldn't see his, which, considering he just about died on the spot, was a very good thing.

He quickly composed himself as Uncle Stinky stepped aside to let her in, and he heard her say, "No... I'm... just a friend." Cartman couldn't figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing - after all, he didn't _want_ her to be 'just a friend,' but on the other hand, it would be a good thing if she considered them friends, right?

And then Cartman's brain jacked off, because he finally caught sight of her, and she looked _gorgeous_. Cartman decided he was in love with pleated skirts and white sweaters. In fact, if people were allowed to marry articles of clothing, he would have called for a double wedding on the spot.

Wendy's eyes swept around the room, and they ended up on Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Bebe. She smiled brightly at Bebe, and the girls greeted each other, and then she caught Stan's eye.

"Hi, Wendy," he said with a touch of nervousness, because this was the girl he'd been pining after for a good six years, after all.

"Hello, Stan," she said in a somewhat detached voice. Stan gave her a wane smile, and Kyle reached out, grabbed his hand, intwined their fingers, and promptly broke every bone in Stan's hand.

... Well, maybe not. But there _was_ an audible crack.

"_OWCH!_"

"Taking after your uncle?" Wendy asked, sounding politely curious, as she looked at the death grip Kyle had on his hand.

"Wah - no! _Uncle Jimbo is not gay!_" he yelped, distracted momentarily from the pain of his hand.

"Hm. If you say so." Wendy looked away and finally looked at Cartman, who was composing himself. Again.

"Hey, Cartman," she said, and gave him a grudging smile. "Nice sweater."

"Um, you too," he said. Bebe was behind Wendy, waving her arms to get his attention and mouthing 'introduce her!' at him.

"Right, this is my family," he said, suddenly wishing they were much more impressive, and not a bunch of fat hicks from Nebraska. If they had an ounce of the ambition he possessed, they'd all be multimillionaires, and he wouldn't have to feel ashamed of them. "Uncle Stinky, Aunt Lisa," he began with the man who'd given Wendy her horrible first impression and his red head wife. "Fat Bob-"

"Fat Bob?" Kyle repeated. "Why's he called _Fat Bob?_"

Cartman ground his teeth. That God damn Jew. "Because he's the _fat_ one."

Kyle started snickering, which made Cartman fume. He glanced sideways at Wendy, fearing the worst, but she wasn't laughing at him. She was standing patiently, waiting for him to continue.

"... and my cousins, Fred, Alexandra, and Elvin," he said, pointing to a short man, and woman with enormous blond hair, and a nine-year-old, respectively. The nine-year-old was currently whining and tugging on his mother's dress.

"MOOOOOM, I wanna 'nother fudge-cicle," he whined loudly.

"All right, sweetie, there are more of them in the kitchen," Aunt Lisa said

"Wow, he's just like you were when you were that age, fatass," Kyle hissed at him in an undertone, amused. Cartman swelled with indignation, about to rip the God damn pillow biter's head off, when someone else spoke up.

"He is not."

They all turned to stare at Wendy.

"Cartman had much more flare then that," she said casually. Kyle looked stupefied.

"It's nice to meet you, Wendy," Cousin Alexandra said, and then they all advanced and began making small talk. Kenny went back to staring at one of the two relatives Cartman didn't introduce (the other being a man with a horrible comb-over and a purple jacket.

"HOW is she so hot? I mean, she's a member of the Cartman family!" Kenny hooked Cartman by the elbow and dragged him over. "Dude, _how_ is she so hot?"

"She's a hermaphrodite," Cartman said, wrenching his arm from Kenny's grip and vowing to kill him some day soon. Wendy was over there with his aunts and uncles, and every word they said to her was cementing her against him! He didn't have time for Kenny's shit!

"What?" Kenny said, paling a little.

"She's a hermaphrodite," Cartman repeated angrily. "It runs in the family, you can always tell because they're the slim ones, all right! My mother was the same way when she was that age, now go _fuck yourself_, I don't have time for this!" he said, storming back over to Wendy and his relatives.

"She's a _hermaphrodite?_" Kenny said, looking like breathing had just been outlawed. Bebe, on the other hand, was now raking the girl with her eyes.

"Kenny, honey..." she cooed, turning her head to smile sweetly at him, "I think it's time we considered an open relationship..."

"Whores," Kyle said, much alarmed. He backed away from them as if he feared it were catching, shaking his head and muttering, "Whores..."

Cartman re-approached Wendy and his family members, and paled when he realized which story they were telling her. It was The Zoo Incident. That horrible, dark secret in his past that the guys would never stop ripping on him for if they ever heard. Panicking, Cartman grabbed the TV remote and waved it under Fat Bob's nose.

"Who wants to watch football?" he asked as though he were speaking to a group of dogs, catching their attention. He flung the remote at the couch. "Go get it! Go get it!" he crooned, and they all dove for it.

And then he was alone with Wendy, who was looking at him with a curious look on her face.

"Why would you do that to penguins?"

"I was young! I needed the money!" he cried, distressed, fearing his extended family had destroyed any chance he had with her. But Wendy neither recoiled in horror nor laughed herself sick at his expense. She merely muttered a "Mm," and glanced over at Kenny, who was breathing into a paper bag while Bebe rubbed his back.

"So..." Cartman said, hating that all his smooth words dried up around Wendy. "Do you want a, uh, soda or some shit?"

"Sure," Wendy said, and he left for the kitchen. Elvin was in there, watching Terrance and Philip reruns on an old portable TV and clutching a box of slowly melting fudge-cicles to his chest. Cartman swung the refrigerator open and removed a soda, which he'd made his mother get in the old-fashioned bottles, though it was twice the price for the same amount of soda. He thought it looked cooler.

"Mom," he whined, turning around to look at Liane, "when is dinner gonna be ready?"

"Soon, sweetums," she said, pouring liberal amounts of gravy into the mashed potatoes... just the way he liked them. The doorbell rang suddenly and she put down the spoon she'd been scooping it on with, uttering an "Oh!" and hurrying toward the door.

Cartman followed after her, confused. Wasn't everyone here already? But then she opened the door and he stared at two men in matching orange jumpsuits.

"Howard!" she gushed. "I'm so glad you could make it! Oh, and you brought your friend Charlie."

"... Is that Charlie Manson?" Wendy breathed, coming up beside him. Her eyebrows were raised in surprise.

"Um, yeah," Cartman said, and when she stared at him he shrugged. "Old family friend?"

"Hmm..." she said, accepting her soda from Cartman and taking a sip. "Do you want me to take Bebe into the den or something?"

"What?" he asked, completely thrown.

"That's why you inviting me over, isn't it?" she said. "To keep Bebe company so you could hang out with your friends."

"No!" he said quickly. "I mean. Once she and Kenny start sucking face it would take surgery to remove them. Why don't we go to the den instead, I don't want to have to look at them inhale each other."

Wendy laughed. "Me, neither," she said. She took another sip of her soda, and then she said, "Sure, why not?"

--

Kenny and Bebe, it just so happened, weren't sucking face, though Bebe would have much preferred that. Kenny was actually _stuffing_ his face.

"You know when Cartman was threatening our personal property to make us come over, and I said 'I'll come if Kenny is'?"

"Uh-huh," he grunted, loading a chip with salsa.

"Well I _assumed_ we'd be making out by now."

"Sorry," he said, swallowing so that he could talk. "Trust me, you don't know _how_ sorry. But if I don't eat, then I don't have any energy, and if I don't have any energy, then I can't even screw my hand."

"_HM_," Bebe said, placing her hands on her hips and looking most displeased. "NOBODY turns down Bebe Stevens."

"Sorry," Kenny said, cramming some more chips into his mouth.

She gave him a hard look, then swung the refrigerator open, removed a can of whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and then bore down on him.

"You need to eat?" she said. "Fine; you'll eat," and then she grabbed him by the draw strings of his parka and pulled him up the stairs. They didn't come back down until Liane called everyone in for dinner. Uncle Howard entertained them with stories of jail, and everyone else entertained Wendy with stories of Cartman's youth.

... Cartman hated his family. So much. Because every story that made Kyle, Stan, Kenny, and Bebe howl with laughter and bang the table was another story that completely devastated his chances with Wendy. And things had been going so _well_, too! They'd sat in the den and watched a little TV, mocked a couple of Thanksgiving specials, and Wendy had started to complain about the boy who was running against her for class president.

"His whole campaign strategy is to tell people I'm a transsexual! I mean, that's blatant slander!" she'd raged. "I went to the principal but he _believes_ it, so he won't do anything!"

"Well why don't you start spreading rumors that he likes to crossdress?" he had suggested. "You could put up posters of him in skirts and print 'Vote Wendy' underneath. I guarantee you'd get votes."

She frowned at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to berate him for his underhanded suggestion, but instead she said, "I don't have any pictures of him in skirts."

He'd grinned. "So just get Timmy to photoshop it for you."

"Why would Timmy do something like that for me?"

"Because he has a crush on you."

"He does?"

"Who doesn't? ... I mean," Cartman had said, and swore under his breath, "I mean, this Peanuts special sucks ass. I wish the turkey would just strangle that dog."

"... Hm," Wendy had said, and taken a sip of her soda.

But _NOW..._ God, she wouldn't want anything to do with him. Why did God always have to dangle the things he wanted in front of him, only to take it all away? Cartman couldn't get out of dinner fast enough. When the meal was finally over, he escaped through the back door.

Everyone else retired to the living room, lounging on couches, chairs, and the floor as they digested. Wendy was looking over at Bebe, wondering if she really wanted to know how her best friend had gotten whipped cream in her ear, when Charlie Manson approached her.

"Wendy, right?" he said, and she nodded. "Would you like to come with me to someplace more secluded, Miss Wendy?" he asked. Wendy thought it over, then shrugged and stood up, following him into the kitchen. After all, he was only a mass murderer.

"Miss Wendy," Charlie Manson said, "it seems to me that Eric likes you."

"You think?" she asked evenly.

"I am to understand Eric is a bit of a problem child."

"That's one - extremely mild - way of wording it," Wendy said.

"Miss Wendy, perhaps I am overstepping my bounds, but I just felt a bit of kinship with that boy. Don't write him off immediately; anyone can change. Take me, for example. I planned and carried out numerous gruesome murderers, but all it took was the right mixture of Christmas specials to make me change my ways."

"I get what you're trying to say," Wendy said, brushing off the front of her skirt. "But all you did was lead a cult. No offense, Mr. Manson, but you're no Eric Cartman."

And then she went outside.

--

"Hey, man," Kyle greeted Stan, who was seated on Cartman's front porch. He'd seen him talking to Cartman's cousin with the big hair, then utter a scream of outrage and leave the room. "What's up?"

"Cartman's cousin just asked me when my uncle was going to make an honest man out of Ned and tie the knot," Stan said in a low growl.

"_Ah_," Kyle said, his eyes rolling skyward.

"It makes no sense!" Stan cried dramatically, his arms stretching out on either side of him. "_It makes no sense, Kyle!_ I just met her two hours ago!"

Kyle looked sadly down at him, then joined him on the steps, tucking his knees against his chest. "Man..." he said slowly. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea."

"Woah, wait, WHAT?" Stan said, twisting around to face him, his Jimbo/Ned plight completely forgotten.

"You've obviously got a lot of denial issues," Kyle muttered, picking at his nails. "And you're still hung up on Wendy..."

"Is _that_ why you tried to bend all my fingers backwards?" Stan said, giving him an aghast look. "Dude, I don't like Wendy. I mean... Cartman likes her. She's been tainted for life," he tried the joke, but Kyle still looked morosely at his fingers. Stan sighed and leaned toward him.

"Look, you know how Wendy said, 'Taking after your uncle?', and I said no, 'cause they aren't gay-" Kyle gave him a look, which he didn't let deter him "-but _I_ am."

Kyle grinned at him, finally, because Stan was finally admitting it without prodding in the form of a wooden bat. Stan flexed his fingers and said, "That really hurt, you know."

"Sorry," Kyle said, hooking him by the pinkie and planting a kiss on his knuckles. Stan leaned forward impatiently to catch him on the mouth because, for all his clinging to Kyle, he hadn't kissed him since Cartman had gotten him in detention. It was, incidentally, much better when you didn't get stopped halfway through by a bat-wielding maniac. Kyle made some happy noises, because Mr. Closet Case was kissing him where anyone who drove past could see.

And because this was South Park, it just so happened that at that exact moment Jimbo and Ned drove past, not that wither boy noticed them.

"... Huh," Jimbo said, shaking his head. "I would've sworn on my father's grave it would be Shelly." He glanced over at the passenger-side seat. "All right, Ned, a bet's a bet. You're on top tonight."

--

Cartman was seated in his clubhouse, quietly lamenting his love and wondering when, exactly, he'd turned into such a tremendous pussy.

He was also lamenting Kenny's future, because poor people were only good for physical labor, and this club house was very poorly put together. But, really, it was his fault. He should have hit Kenny harder when he'd been building it, back when they were eight.

"_There_ you are," said a feminine voice, and Cartman froze and stared as Wendy hauled herself up the ladder and sat down on the edge of the clubhouse, her legs dangling off the end and hanging into space. She glanced around the tree house, then looked at him. "Pretty nice club house."

"Been in many?"

"Only one other," she said, rearranging her legs and skirt so that they sat more comfortably. She smiled a little at him. "Yours is much nicer." Cartman couldn't help but smirk, because he knew for a fact she was talking about Stan's.

"You should come back inside. Your mom's going to serve dessert soon."

"I don't want to."

Wendy mock-gasped, placing a hand over her heart. "Eric Cartman doesn't want dessert?"

"Oh, ha. Ha ha ha. Bitch," he growled. He could be nasty to her, now, because she wasn't going to date him. His family had ruined that chance. She frowned at him and let her hand drop.

"Fine, then I'll stay out here with you," she declared matter-of-factly. She looked down at her legs and swung them back and forth while Cartman gave her a surprised look.

"... You know, Cartman, Charlie Manson tried to convince me you weren't such a bad guy, really."

Wendy smiled briefly at him. "But, you know, I think anyone who thinks you're redeemable are very greatly underestimating you. Because... you're really something, you know. I'm just not sure what."

She drummed her fingers against the floor of the club house and then she admitted, "I don't know where I'm going with this. It's just... I don't want you to get redeemed, because if you weren't the self-absorbed asshole you are, you'd never have jumped through so many hoops to get me over here. You wouldn't be half as _dedicated_."

Cartman gaped at her, because that was a bit much to process all at once. So... Wendy knew he'd just wanted her to come over? How could see know that? Evil female powers? She liked him?

"Hey, Cartman," she said, smirking. "Truth or dare."

"... Dare," he said, in the smoothest voice he could manage.

Wendy leaned forward to kiss him.

And then the entire club house fell right out of the tree.

It was the worst moment of Cartman's life. He apologized and cursed Kenny out for be a shoddy carpenter and helped her out from under the rotten boards, wishing the earth would open up and swallow him whole. Of course, it was a crappily made tree house, and of course, it couldn't support to full-grown teenagers, and _of course_, it had to give way the exact moment he was about to get kissed by the girl in the hottest sweater and skirt that had ever been made.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said, laughing a little as she righted herself.

"This is all Kenny's fault."

"Of course it is," she agreed with him. "Do you want to go inside for dessert now?"

"... No," Cartman said, pulled her closer, and kissed her. And she kissed him back, because God liked him after all.

--

The End


End file.
